Theomachy
by The Readers Muse
Summary: Whispers followed him in the weeks that followed.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NBC's "Hannibal." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** Third part of the "Right kind of monster" series. Sequel to "The (right) kind of monster" & "Labascate (but never yield)" I wanted to write a bit of pre-slash Preller where after Beverly was murdered, Hannibal came after Zeller next, only – unexpectedly - he bit off a bit more than he could chew and now the aftermath of that scenario (told in "The (right) kind of monster" is being continued.

 **Disclaimer:** vampires, vampirism, blood drinking, gore, blood, canon appropriate violence, adult language, mild animal traits/behaviors, pre-slash, drama, angst, domesticity, psychological trauma, mild sexual content.

 **Theomachy**

 _ **Chapter One**_

 _"I heard that when the Ripper knocked the screwdriver out of his hand he just fucking lost it. I mean, who wouldn't really? You think you're going to die, I bet I would take a chunk out of the asshole that had me pinned too."_

 _"But with that kind of damage? I don't know, its weird. Something seems off about it. I don't know why people aren't talking about it…I get that he's one of us, but- That was a lot of blood to swallow in self defense, you know? Look- I'm just saying it's weird, okay?! Stop looking at me like that."_

 _"They say he crawled almost three miles trying to get to the road before he collapsed. Can you imagine? I don't think I could do that after getting as cut up as he did. Twenty-three stitches. The doctors said it could have been much worse, he got off lucky."_

 _"It takes a special brand of person to be able to do that you know? I heard he had to have had his teeth in Lecter's neck for a long time to account for all that blood he puked out. Who does that? Why?"_

 _"I heard the Ripper had a gramophone in the back of his car with a bunch of folding stainless table tables and lab equipment. They think he was going to put Zeller on his own autopsy table. How sick is that? There were like- over a hundred plastic evidence slides too. What do you think he was going to do with those? I mean, I don't want to know, but I kinda do at the same time, you know. Whenever the Ripper was involved it was always one hell of a something."_

 _"If Dr. Lecter hadn't messed up the dose it would have been a whole different story. Like- game over, you know? Zeller wouldn't have been able to fight off the effects in time. What do you think he would have done with him? Ugh. I don't even want to think about it, honestly. The crime scene photos are still giving me nightmares."_

 _"Did you hear about the weird stuff they found in his apartment? Yeah, yeah- I know we aren't supposed to talk about it. But- well, Zeller just didn't strike me as a history buff, you know. There were newspaper clippings dating back over a hundred years, I guess his Great-Grandma liked scrap-booking or something. And some of his furniture were actual antiques. Must have been passed down because hell if you or I could afford that shit on what they pay us."_

Whispers followed him in the weeks that followed.

Some awed.

Some disbelieving.

Some better.

Some worse.

The problem with having 'not quite vampire' senses was that he heard _all_ of them.

Officially, he was still on leave. Unofficially, he was bored out of his mind and looking for any excuse to get out of his mostly destroyed apartment - which his insurers were taking their sweet time deciding if they wanted to pay for. Leaving him caught in a strange place, somewhere between rebirth and decay, as he paged through rough sketches of his own renovation ideas versus the glossy pictures on the professional brochure that'd been shoved through the slot the day he'd been allowed back in. Almost like the world was trying to tell him something about the disaster that was currently his life.

 _Fucking fix it._

He delivered the papers to HR and went looking for Jimmy. Refusing to find it creepy when he shrugged and followed his nose. Something he would've never have allowed before all this. He supposed almost dying had put some things into perspective. It was just ironic that it'd taken Hannibal's blood trickling down his throat to put himself on a less restrictive leash.

There was a joke in there somewhere.

Maybe even a sexual innuendo.

He was sure of it.

Either way, things were different now.

More chaotic, sure.

But also far more centered.

He didn't want to put a label on it, but he knew for sure that the blood was probably the cause. He wasn't sure if it was amount or the desperation behind it - finding himself in a blood-bath gauntlet and coming out on top for once. But for the first time in his life, all the rough edges between nature and normalcy had gone gentle on him. Things he'd clung to so fiercely – control, control, control – had blended _._ Able to find a happy medium easier than he ever had before. Living like a weight had been taken off his shoulders as he looked his reflection in the eye every morning since and wondered how he'd even been able to breathe at all.

You'd think he'd be more careful, but instead he felt a tier above reckless.

Fuck, he felt _capable._

Predatorily settled was the phrase that came immediately to mind.

He caught the smoky tint of Jack's scent wafting from the director's office a couple floors up and headed in the opposite direction. Something in him settling warmly when he traced Jimmy to the secondary lab. Lips quirking up when he picked up the faint sound of the man humming to himself as he worked from clear down the hall.

 _Christ, he missed this._

"Hey," he called, waiting until Jimmy was in the process of looking up from the slide he was examining so he didn't startle him. Stomach swooping into his belly when the man smiled openly, pleased to see him.

"Hey, back," Jimmy greeted. Automatically glancing at the clock before rubbing his eyes in that way he did when he'd spent too long hunched over a microscope.

"Dinner? My treat?" he offered, hitching his hip against the counter as he watched him cross the room. Puttering around with such a familiar rhythm that it threatened to make him homesick.

"You _do_ know how to woo a working man, don't you?" Jimmy answered with a grin, rocking back on his heels. "Just let me finish this slide and I'll grab my coat."

"Whatcha working on?" he wheedled, eager to get back in the saddle despite the full month of mandatory leave he had to go. Paid leave, but yeah- considering he wasn't allowed to stray far due to interviews, meetings, psych evaluations, follow-up doctor's visits and the occasional deposition, it felt more like house-arrest than a vacation. It was safe to say he was already tired of looking at the holes Hannibal had put in his walls and the mess they'd made of the carpet.

"You, actually. I'm looking at some of the evidence from the crime scene," Jimmy answered nonchalantly. Adding his signature beside a fresh spit of tape sealing the bag of trace evidence. Something that looked suspiciously like a piece of his leather jacket, in fact.

He stiffened. Struggling not to let his emotions show as Jimmy continued talking. Happily oblivious as his stance firmed into something almost anticipatory. Like his flight or fight response was caught in the starting gate and the rest of him was just along for the ride. Waiting to see how the chips fell as Jimmy chattered on with clear interest.

"There was an anomaly in one of the samples the lackies collected so I'm just cross-checking to make sure there was nothing we missed. Honestly though- it's a little weird. You'd love it. There was a hint of a third set of DNA but it was so faint I nearly missed it. Almost like a third person was there. Probably contamination or just someone having been in the area a couple hours before. Nothing that will complicate the case or anything, so don't worry. This is just professional curiosity on my part."

He didn't say anything when Jimmy ordered a tonic water and a wedge of lemon in response to his pint of beer when they got to the pub. Too wrapped up in the fact that he _was_ worried. In about three dozen different ways, actually. But since the truth didn't make for good table conversation, he kept his mouth shut.

Barely.

* * *

Things hadn't progressed much between them since that first night. He'd ended up staying over for a few nights. Each time starting in the guest room before inexplicably migrating back to Jimmy's bedroom sometime during the night. Waking up overwarm and pleasantly stale every time Jimmy got up for a piss. Coddling him back under the covers as the man came willingly every time. Not really awake to start with as he shuffled across the carpet with socked feet like a complete and utter _heathen_. Huffing with clear displeasure when he refused to allow him to hog the entire duvet. Too entitled to at least half of everything that was Jimmy's to fall back into the vague politeness that was usually expected from one's house guests.

But save for a few awkward morning boners and some disgustingly domestic moments half dressed and scrapping over the coffeemaker in the morning, there'd been nothing more to report when it came to actually- well, _doing something about it._

The unofficial stalemate they'd been operating under for god knows how long was still firmly in place.

And the truth was, part of him was _relieved.  
_  
He was chickening out, obviously. But the truth was, it was bit more complicated than that. He was a mess. His life was a mess and worse, he no longer felt like it was okay - if it'd ever been - to hide this part of himself from Jimmy. It felt dishonest. Like he was in danger of starting everything off on the wrong foot. Jimmy was important to him. He didn't want the man to think he didn't trust him, or worse, didn't care about him at all.

But most of all, it felt dangerous. Because at this point he didn't know if he even _could_. He wanted him too much. Already fielding something sharp and dark that desperately wanted to start stretching out in the back of his mind. Something that turned his dreams lurid and almost violently sexual. Knowing that control would be a moot point if they ever got out of the dug-out sometime in the next half-century.

He wanted Jimmy.

Every part of him did.

Not long ago that realization would've completely crippled him.

Now he figured he was just too far gone properly weigh the repercussions.

* * *

 **A/N:** There will be two more chapters to this part of the series, play stay tuned. Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think.

 **Reference:**

\- theomachy: war among, or against the Gods.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NBC's "Hannibal." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** Third part of the "Right kind of monster" series. Sequel to "The (right) kind of monster" & "Labascate (but never yield)" I wanted to write a bit of pre-slash Preller where after Beverly was murdered, Hannibal came after Zeller next, only – unexpectedly - he bit off a bit more than he could chew and now the aftermath of that scenario (told in "The (right) kind of monster" is being continued.

 **Disclaimer:** vampires, vampirism, blood drinking, gore, blood, canon appropriate violence, adult language, mild animal traits/behaviors, pre-slash, drama, angst, domesticity, psychological trauma, mild sexual content.

 **Theomachy**

 _ **Chapter Two**_

He wasn't sure why, but this time he checked the peephole when the knock on his door roused him from the book he wasn't really reading. Getting a strange feeling as his bare feet curled in on themselves as he ambled towards the door. Letting his heightened senses sprawl past the dust and chemicals the crime scene cleaners had used to reach out into the hall where a hundred thousand scents teemed for his attention. Quickly blunting anything beyond the odd rasp of cloth, dog hair and uneven breathing as he winced reflectively.

He swallowed convulsively when none other than Will Graham stood silently in the hall on the other side of the door. _Damn it._ He had about half a moment to seriously consider pretending not to be home before curiosity won out. They'd been on better terms since Bev's death but nothing near friendly. And all things considered, Will Graham absolutely the _last_ person he wanted to see after-

His fingers curled around the door handle. Settling on wrenching it open like he had something to prove. Letting the silence stay for a beat, then another, before-

"Gotta say, that out of everyone I didn't expect you," he said eventually, by way of greeting. Hesitating for a long moment before opening the door a bit wider in invitation. "I wasn't expecting company so ignore the mess, or not. I don't really care. The insurance company is still dragging their heels and honestly I'm already regretting seizing the day when it comes to renovating."

He left the door open for Will to enter before retreating down the hall. Trying not to look as self conscious as he felt in a pair of sweats and a faded shirt with the flaking emblem of a gym that hadn't existed in around fifteen years. The fabric gone butter-soft with use and now more a tool for self-soothing than anything as he ignored the itch to tug on the hem. Letting the man find his own way through the pictures and photographs that were now propped up against the walls. Pausing by the kitchen as he toed off his shoes. Almost disconcertingly quiet as dry-wall dust trickled listlessly from the holes like gravity and whispers were enough to make them bleed.

"It's hard to avoid you these days," Graham answered as he passed him. Keen gaze seeing everything as it roved from the furniture, to the few knick-knacks and wall hangings still clinging to the gouged paint before angling back to him. "I figured I'd get this part over with, for both our sakes. Right now you're more famous than me. Jack told me I owe you a thank you for the reprieve."

"And to think, I once wanted the attention," he returned mildly. Seeing no reason to brush over the truth as the corner of Will's lips tugged up slightly. Like his body remembered the action but still couldn't quite bring himself to smile.

"Middle child syndrome," Graham remarked softly. Bringing him back to that moment in the lab like it was still fresh. He hadn't been lying or high on himself when he'd said that the middle was the sweet spot. It had been for him. He'd been born in a time where a spare was almost as important as an heir. Insurance if the first son died before he had family of his own. It was the position of the third son that you didn't want. The one that saw you forcibly sent off to the priesthood or something equally unnoticeable.

But then again, Will hadn't exactly been wrong either.

Even in terms of genealogy, the position of second best had never really sat right with him.

"You saw the crime scene photos," he started, rubbing the back of his neck before he realized it was just another sign of discomfort. Resigned to an explanation he'd never had to give before now. Knowing that Graham knew. _He had to know._ He might not know exactly what he was - what he'd done - but he knew enough to come here. It was just too much of a coincidence that the man was here, now, especially with his gifts of perception.

But instead of getting into it, Graham side-stepped. Doing that thing that'd made it easy to hate him for not that long ago. Managing to both needle him and catch him off guard at the same time.

"I've never been here before," Will remarked, the cadence of his speech at odds with his pace as he stepped gingerly over the rolled up area rug he hadn't gotten around to tossing in the trash yet. Eyes running over the antique barn beams he'd made into shelves close to eight years ago. Back when he'd been going through a wood-working phase and had less of a problem than he did now with storing books. The shelves ran the length of the room, bolted into the upper wall in a singular layer, framing the room. And he still had boxes in storage. "You have quite the collection."

He nodded silently. Leaning into the kitchen to pick up a bottle of bourbon. Holding it up in a silent question until Will returned the gesture. Neck craned to read the tiles above him as he poured them a couple fingers and quietly cursed himself for having a chronological organization system. Watching out the corner of his eye as the man skimmed through the titles of his life like he was pursing the selection at a particularly exclusive book store. Able to discern everything from interests, hobbies, obsessions- all the way into the more personal – and indeed practical choices. Things like old how-to guides that he still kept because they felt like a familiar pair of shoes at this point. Or his one strangely focused fifteen-year habit of ending up with the yearly cookbook the old church ladies in the parish had churned out every year for charity. The kind with plastic backs, cracked spines and type-writer pages where the recipes called for things like a two-thirds cup of pure leaf lard and fried milk. And – in the newer editions – had recipes called "Watergate Salad" and "Great Depression Casserole."

"You don't invite people over much, do you?" Will observed. still not looking at him. "Your privacy is the last life preserver you have before jumping. You take a lot of precautions, they make you feel better. But the truth is you're always in danger of drowning and you know it. That's why you've never let him inside. He knows where you live and thinks he's welcome anytime, but he's never quite made it past the hall, has he?"

His lips firmed into a deep slashing line across his face. Harsh like emotional violence.

The worst part was he didn't have to ask who he meant.

 _Jimmy._

He could admit it seemed to be trend these days.

"And you do?" he slung back. Feeling like he was on the defensive when he shouldn't have been. Questioned and psychoanalyzed on his own damn house. "How many people have you let in? Really?"

Will's expression twitched discomfort before smoothing again. Still not meeting his eyes as he turned his attention to the record player in the corner by the window.

"People show up and demand my presence. The people you surround yourself with respect your space. Mine either don't or think they know better. Sometimes it's a variation of both, which has its own problems."

He handed Will his drink mechanically before taking an open sip of his own. Not bothering to hide that it was a fortifying one as he watched Will's hands curl like blunt claws around the glass.

"I underestimated you," Will said after a long beat. Dark with a double meaning that he could almost reach out and strangle. "We all did."

He met Will's eyes far easier than he had any right too when the man finally turned to look at him. Facing him down for the first time since he'd opened the door. Knowing that the game Will wanted to play was dangerous and that his participation was required, if not demanded.

"Hannibal said the same thing," he said bluntly. Not bothering to hide the fact that he was somewhere between intimidated and fed up as the man stared at him like he could see right through him. Curling his fingers into the soft down of the couch cushions as his bourbon sloshed dangerously close to the rim. Forcing himself to take a seat as Will remained standing. Ignoring the little voice in the back of his head that insisted he keep the high ground.

He'd killed Hannibal Lecter. Proving not only to himself but the world that he was a force to be reckoned with.

So why did Will Graham never fail to make the little hairs on the back of his neck stand on end?

"Why are you here, Will?" he asked instead. Voice low like it was a secret as the man all but radiated contradiction. Switching between displaying predatory aggression and tension before angling back to prey behavior. Hunching his shoulders in an attempt to appear smaller. Yet refusing to get to the point. Stalling.

And his psychologist thought _he_ was a mess?

"I wanted to see it."

He frowned when Will refused to look at him. Eyes careening around the room like he had no time to let it soak in. Rushed and almost harried, with sweat starting to bead down from his temples despite the chill of the room.

"You wanted to see what?"

"His design," Will said softly, wincing for the both of them when the word conjured up bad memories. "What he was thinking before-"

 _Before he almost killed me._

He pressed his palms against his eyes until red supernovas hazed static and darkness under his lids. Shaking his head as he tried to work through it. Realizing with a start that there was another level to the intimacy of death he hadn't unlocked until now. The part that came hand in hand with terror, dissociation and worse- a sensual sort of suicidal appreciation for the fall.

It was fucking bizarre, honestly.

He couldn't say he'd never thought about it either.

About how he'd die.

In their line of work it was almost impossible not to.

But nearly getting garrotted by Will Graham's therapist just hadn't been in his line up.

He thought about the steel wire meant to trip him at the start of the hall. Looking behind him as the twin holes Hannibal had drilled on either side of the frame shone neatly in the low-light. Slow-leaking wall plaster like powdered blood across the steel grey carpet. He thought about how the line had skimmed the soles of his boots when he'd caught the glint at the last moment. Dangerously close to sending him sprawling forward as he slammed his shoulder into the wall and reeled backwards instead. Giving him precious seconds to get his bearings as the frame of Hannibal's shoulders loomed familiar and darkly cut as he cursed out an exhale and looked around in a panic. Heightened scenes barely able to separate the monster from the darkness as the man shifted in surprise. Making him realize just now, belated as it was, how rare it was for one of his victims to get this far.

He thought about the fact that it'd been a scalpel.

A tool he knew like breathing.

Something he used every day.

Knowing all too well how sharp it was.

How you could be bleeding before you knew you had an accident.

He thought about how Hannibal had looked in the low light shadows. Unearthly and suddenly every inch the monster the Ripper's crime scenes had promised. But mostly how the asshole's smug expression had slackened in surprise when his eyes had flashed. Pressing down on the bleeding slash across his forearm before he pushed off the wall and bared his fangs. Hissing through gritted teeth. Able to tell the exact moment Hannibal saw what he was. Seeing it dawn on the asshole's face as he canted his chin in a clear challenge. Canines sharp against his bottom lip as the scent of his own red rose like a personal brand of blood lust.

Will shifted awkwardly, eyes flicking from him to the dent in the dry-wall where he'd slammed Hannibal's head. Barely missing the corner of the mantle he'd been aiming for as the man had tripped him in mid-lunge. Making the best of a bad situation as every counter measure that failed to connect gave Lecter time to recover.

 _This was a goodbye._

He wondered if Will even realized it.

"Did you love him?" he blurted, cheeks flushing warm as he remembered the way Hannibal had purred at him the moment the needle had _snicked_ into his skin. Holding him down in a vicious headlock that'd strained tendons and threatened the sanctity of all the bones he could name by heart. Whispering dark things - _endearments_ \- as Lector forced his canines to bare. Thumbing at the sharp of them with honoring fingers as the needle jammed into his flank was replaced by blackhole-darkness seconds before he started to fall.

A non-reaction would have spoken more, but Will nodded anyway.

 _How_ was the real question.

 _How_ could you love someone like that?

 _How_ could you justify that?

 _How_ did something like that even work?

But he didn't voice it.

He didn't have to.

He nursed his bourbon slowly. Watching Will pace around the room with methodological agitation. Pausing in front of the hole above his cracked flat screen TV. Curious if the man could tell whose fist made it just by looking. Pointedly not looking at his own fist when it throbbed in sympathy. Remembering the abrupt splinter of broken bones arcing through his hand as Hannibal's lip tugged up in a smirk. Pretentious and full of bloodlust.

"What do you see?" he asked instead, rough and almost breathless. Not knowing he wanted an answer so desperately until the words were suddenly out there. Impossible to take back. Wondering if there was a word between desire and regret as he silently fumed at giving so much of himself away. "What do you see when you look at me?"

The truth was, he still wasn't ready to admit that this was the question he'd been wanting to ask ever since they'd met. All those months watching _'The' Will Graham_ chase killers, psychopaths and sadists. People who'd done things he didn't have the creativity to imagine by himself. Catching them by being able to emphasize with the worst humanity had to offer. Able to understand, at least in part, what drove them and why. Wondering, deep down in the heart of him, if someday Will Graham would add him to the list of things that kept him up at night.

Will's head cocked as he looked at him. Not dissimilar to the pack of dogs that trailed him around almost everywhere he went. A makeshift family for a makeshift man. It made sense in a sad sort of way he wasn't really comfortable getting into.

Deciding to take comfort in the fact that there was a modicum of safety in people's perception of the impossible as the tendons in the man's throat worked through a difficult swallow. Expression hard, sad and distantly apathetic all at once. Knowing that even if Will _did_ know, even if he let his canines shiver sharp out of his gums and sent the man running away screaming, no one would _ever_ believe him.

Still, for that tense period of time where Will just looked at him, he was afraid.

Afraid of what he might see.

Afraid of what he didn't.

 _Just afraid.  
_

"The rare horror movie where the monster with the claws and the sharp teeth isn't the one people are running from," Will rasped quietly, eyes hooded and far away in that way he recognized from the crime scenes. "For a few people - not all of them, but a few – it's the one they run to. The monster they need. _The one they chose._ "

He nearly collapsed in on himself in relief.

Not realizing how much of his self-worth was riding on the man's opinion.

Ultimately, he wasn't sure if that was something to be proud of.

Especially when it came from someone like Will Graham.

But then, his life had never exactly been this side of easy.

"You're lucky. You aren't _what_ you are. You never let it consume you. Even when you let it off it's leash," Will said eventually to the opposite wall.

 _'Like you did,'_ he thought silently. Making a fist at his side with his free hand as he fought to keep the thought bunkered down. ' _You enjoyed the fall, didn't you? That's the difference. It felt familiar. Freeing. Safe. Like you'd been waiting on someone like Hannibal all along to let the darkness out. Like a dream that should have died by morning, but the two of you kept it alive.'_

Somewhere outside a hundred million heartbeats pulsed.

A dog barked, playfully vicious before the abused squeak of a toy issued from the apartment two floors above.

Half a block away someone's car alarm started blaring.

A baby laughed.

A couple wound down from an all-out screaming matching.

An old man scratched-scratched his way through the day's crossword.

A woman who smelled like needle-laced iron rummaged through the dumpster below them.

A trio of joggers put shoes to pavement, breathing audibly into the humid city air.

"If you want him, you need to tell him," Will told him suddenly. Proving he still had the ability to rub him the wrong way with his irritating ability to know things he shouldn't.

He breathed through the anxiety like it was a living thing.

Suddenly finding it hysterical that he could be _this_ old and _still_ be shit at this part.

"If I tell him. I'll lose him," he snapped, slamming his glass down on the table with less force than he wanted. Knowing from experience that those type of tantrums usually ended up with him picking pieces of glass out of his hand with a pair of tweezers. "We already look at monsters for a living. Who wants to bring a monster to bed at night?"

He thought about the way Jimmy used snark and humor to distance himself from the things they saw. He thought about the way Jimmy never seemed to be able to get sobriety to stick. How sometimes he came into work smelling like exhaustion and pillow-sweat. How there were times in the lab when he'd look up and find him staring down at the person on their autopsy table, expression almost-

"You aren't giving him enough credit."

He opened his mouth to protest before Will spoke over him.

"Or yourself."

The pause was lengthy this time.

"I don't think I like you in my head," he said carefully, hating the way the shadows teased across the man's face. Reminding him of the way the darkness had done the same for Hannibal as Will stood almost exactly where Hannibal had been the moment before he'd-

"I don't even like _me_ in my head," Will replied, just as carefully. Watching him lean back into the couch cushions like he might kick himself to his feet and do something else entirely. A nervous tiche that made him wonder what the man's sessions with Doctor Lector had actually been like.

He didn't laugh.

Neither did Will.

Still, Hannibal's ghost did it's best to chuckle darkly between them.

* * *

"What was he going to do?" he asked while refilling their glasses. Not quite able to quell the shudder as he remembered the deadening spread of the sedative flowing through him. The way he'd slumped into the cradle of Hannibal's arms – close like a lover. The man's touch had been so gentle that he'd asked him with his eyes. _Why? Why this way? I know what you're capable of. So why this?_

"I think he wanted to thank you," Will answered, tossing back the last of his bourbon so the finger he added was fresh. "In his own way."

"Thank me?" he repeated, hating the way the Ripper's motives had always been a mystery he'd been one step behind on. Just when he thought he had him figured, the stage would change and he'd be right back where he'd started.

"While your death was necessary, it wouldn't have been like the others. Not even like Beverly's," Will replied, pacing and restless as he edged towards the window. Peering down at the city as the streetlights slowly started to come on. "He was angry when he killed her – he considered her a plaything who'd gotten to close to the truth. You and Beverly were different. He could kill you without regret, but he wouldn't dishonor you the same way he did the others. He would still elevate you. Not to _his_ definition of your status, but to _your true status_. I think he saw- I think he saw you as part of my family. Part of the sphere I surrounded myself with and thus worthy of respect."

A half dozen moments of Hannibal moving about the lab were suddenly reveal in a deeper light. Flash freezing his insides as he remembered Hannibal almost colliding with him as he looked about curiously. Keen gaze missing nothing. Watching. Learning. Amused. _Christ!_

"This was a symbolic giving away of the bride, if you want to look at it that way. But it was more than that because he'd gotten to know you - separately and through me. And this was his way of recognizing that. Hannibal never did anything in halfs. _He knew._ Everything you wanted to hide, he found it. He'd tease it out and coax it into the open if he thought it would be amusing to watch. And that was why he started with you. He was going to honor you with your death, but he wanted Price to be the one to find you. He was going to give him the last gift you could give. ...He was- he was going to take your heart and make him eat it."

Frequencies whined, rendering him momentarily deaf.

Pitching high and suicidal as his canines sharpened against his tongue.

"-he would've considered it appropriate. Probably even beautiful considering the metaphor. He was saving Jack for last. He held him responsible. The absentee father, I suppose."

Rage had an acidic taste. Distinctive from horror in only percentage points and the cheap ph strips people tested their pools with. Barely able to digest the details outside of Jimmy – _Hannibal had been planning to go after Jimmy_ \- before the rest sunk in like a suffocating emotional quagmire.

"Do you think he could have ever loved you back?" he asked, voice rough with disuse and horror. Changing the tone like a switch had been flipped as the line of Will's mouth tightened. Canines itching inside his gums like he'd gone too far. Like the animal under his skin wanted to lift his lip and _present._ Ready to face a threat that wasn't there.

 _Yet._

"He _did_ love me," Will gritted, tossing back the rest of his drink before slamming it down on coffee table. Ignoring the coaster in favor of bleeding moisture across decade old hardwood. "That was the only part of Hannibal the rest of the world would have considered worth saving."

The ability to love was sacred.

At least that's what they told themselves.

He wondered what that meant when the gloves came off.

* * *

 **A/N:** There will be one more chapter to this part of the series, stay tuned. Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NBC's "Hannibal." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** Third part of the "Right kind of monster" series. Sequel to "The (right) kind of monster" & "Labascate (but never yield)" I wanted to write a bit of pre-slash Preller where after Beverly was murdered, Hannibal came after Zeller next, only – unexpectedly - he bit off a bit more than he could chew and now the aftermath of that scenario is being continued.

 **Disclaimer:** vampires, vampirism, blood drinking, gore, blood, canon appropriate violence, adult language, mild animal traits/behaviors, drama, angst, domesticity, psychological trauma, sexual content.

 **Theomachy**

 _ **Chapter Three**_

It was stupid, down to earth, and very much them when it finally happened. Fielding the discomfort without protest as the knob of his apartment door dug into the small of his back. Too caught up in the way Jimmy was _kissing the absolute shit_ out of him to care as he cupped the man's elbows. Holding him in place as the hardness in his trousers met it's equal. Sending him groaning into Jimmy's lips without filter. Desperate and embarrassingly shy as years of wanting came to a sudden end.

He'd planned it out between sweating bullets. Dinner. The movie Jimmy had been talking about seeing. Then a not so subtle invitation to head over to his place - with the excuse of checking out his renovations, _obviously_. He liked to think it was his way of taking Will's words to heart. But the hardest person to fool was generally himself, and frankly- Will and his pseudo-psychology was the last thing on his mind when he'd committed to it.

Naturally, the subtly behind it was ruined when Jimmy pointed out - between sips of an obnoxious looking Shirley Temple he was sure the man had ordered just to fuck with him - that he'd never really seen the inside of his apartment anyway. So how would he know the difference?

At that point he knew Jimmy was just being a bastard for the sake of it. But he still grinned into his lager anyway, soaking it in like it was the best kind of oxygen. Inhaling deeply, whenever he could get away with it, as the spicy scent of Jimmy's cologne - the one he only wore for special occasions - because _yeah-_ hello ego boost - added another pleasant layer.

All in all, things were going pretty damn well. He hadn't tripped over his tongue asking. Dinner had been tasty and atmospheric. The movie, well- all he really remembered was the way their hands had found each other in the dark. Doing that thing he didn't know existed outside of teen movies. Just grinning together in the dark. Neither of them daring to meet the other's eye. Not yet at least.

The only problem was Jimmy still didn't know.

He hadn't given him a chance.

Or maybe he was still dragging his feet.

Either was equally possible at this point.

He let go of a fettered gasp when Jimmy's teeth tugged at his lower lip like an overture. Setting the darker parts of him on point. Desperately trying to navigate around flailing arms and the soft of Jimmy's skin as the man shouldered out of his jacket and started tugging on his. Cursing the stiff material of his new leather jacket between kisses as he dug his nails into the insides of his palms - trying to will them back to bluntness. Attention caught on the thrum of the man's heartbeat and the way his neck was bared _just so-_ like an offering.

He could drown like this.

The fall would be easy.

The loss of control would even be understandable at this point.

But since _he_ was the reflection he had to face in the mirror every day, he pulled away – breathing hard.

Jimmy's eyes were all pupils.

Hair just slightly mussed.

Smelling like- _Christ!_

"I have a thing," he admitted, knuckling the back of his head awkwardly. Struggling, stupidly desperate for the right words, as everything he'd practiced a thousand times in his head fled for the hills and left him to fend for himself.

"So do I," Jimmy hummed, laughing even as he let him have his space. Eyes straying pointedly down to where he was hard on his jeans. Flushing embarrassed, aroused heat down the curve of his neck as he resisted the urge to kiss him again – just to break up the tension. "But it's rude to talk about it in public."

He choked on an anxious laugh as he crowded Jimmy down the hallway. Bumping him vaguely in the direction of the living room. Where was as more space to move without necessarily involving the other. Something he could use as a buffer to get everything else out. Only Jimmy didn't seem to be in any particular hurry to get the memo.

"Don't be an asshole," he huffed. Unable to keep the amusement out of his voice as Jimmy ignored everything that _wasn't_ him. Eying him up and grinning saucily like this was all a big game. "I'm trying to tell you something."

"It's a reflex. My therapist said it's a coping mechanism. I told her nice try, considering I've been doing it all my life. I'm sure that says something about me. Probably something uncomplimentary. But- _oh-_ you really are, aren't you?"

Blue eyes searched his face. Not having to travel far before a small frown took up residence.

"Something tells me this isn't going to be a good _'thing,'_ " Jimmy observed with a sigh. Eyes momentarily caught on the line of bookshelves that still dominated the room, ringed around the upper walls. "Alright, hit me. No peanut butter on the band-aid, best to get it over quick."

His mouth was almost painfully dry as he struggled through a swallow, then another.

How the hell did you tell the person who was probably the _love of your fucking life_ that you were a vampire? Sort of?

"The anomaly in the sample?" he started, seizing on science like a familiar friend as Jimmy's eyebrows shot up. "That was me."

"You?"

"I'm not...normal. I'm stronger, faster, I heal better and I live- I live longer. It runs in my family," he tried to explain, pivoting on his heel with a frustrated sound. Knowing what it sounded like. Struggling with the part of him that just wanted to get the worst over with and show him. "It's why I'm still alive. I should be dead. If I wasn't what I am, I would be. I didn't get lucky, I mean, _I was-_ but that isn't why I'm here and Hannibal isn't. It's because I'm different. I mean, you had to wonder about the sedative wearing off? When was the Ripper ever that careless? Hannibal knew us, all of us. He had access to our computers. How could he make a mistake like that when he probably had my entire file tattooed to the inside of his eyelids? Or all the blood I swallowed? All those cuts and bruises that bled just a bit too much to have been that small? Come on, Jimmy. Think about it. Something doesn't add up, right?"

For a long, awful moment he thought Jimmy was going to laugh.

"Different?" Jimmy parroted slowly, looking at him like he'd discovered something breakable in his expression. Something that kept his face serious even though he could practically smell the man's confusion.

"Yeah," he answered sheepishly. Feeling so incredible lame he didn't even know what to do with himself when he shot the man a careful look. "Do you believe me?"

"Do you need me to?" Jimmy returned quietly, breaking the stalemate by taking a decisive step forward. Looking at him with narrowed eyes. In that way he did when he was trying to figure something out and was about this close to-

"Yes."

Because he did.

He needed Jimmy to believe him before this went any further.

 _He needed to have at least tried._

More than that, he needed Jimmy to acknowledge it. Knowing all the while that he was so full of shit he might as well pack it in now. That if he _really_ wanted Jimmy to understand, he'd show him. That of he was worth anything he'd trust him. But he couldn't. No matter what Will thought, he was too weak to risk Jimmy looking at him like he was just another monster.

"Then, for now, I believe you," Jimmy said decisively, killing the space between them until he could have reached out and touched. Speaking over him before he could make it past the first protest.

"But more to the point- I don't care. You could have _horns._ I don't give a crap. Right now all I care about is _this._ " Jimmy told him. Resting his hand flat on his chest, dangerously close to his heart. "I care about _you_ , stupid. Not all that other shit. I have for a while."

His tone was teasing and heated. Enough to distract him right up until-

The kiss that followed seared his nerve endings. Coaxing and over-warm as Jimmy went up on his toes to make up the difference. Bringing his face down, caught gently in his palms, quieting him with the rough of his lips as the rest of what he was never going to say died between their lips.

He felt, more than heard, Jimmy's shaky inhale when he backed him into the couch and slipped his knee between his legs. Giving him something to grind against as want bled thick from their pores. Finding something almost religious in the way Jimmy took him apart. Catching his lips between his teeth and scratching blunt nails through his stubble as what was left of his doubts hazed away like mist in the morning.

* * *

He dug his teeth into the pillow when he came - messy and loud with a muscle twitching frenetically in his right thigh. Tangled in the sheets and splayed greedily over every inch of Jimmy he could reach. Becoming intimately aware of what it felt like to hate yourself while being almost too sated to care.

Maybe he was just working up to it.

* * *

Or not.

* * *

He figured with practice, he'd even be able to stomach the self-disgust he felt every time he woke up - warm and humid - next him. Smiling into the nape of Jimmy's neck as his familiar scent and everything that made him _his_ slowly soothed him back to sleep.

He'd swallow it down willingly if it meant he got to have _this._

 _Jimmy._

If he got to keep the one thing he was willing to risk everything on.

Because the truth was, he wasn't the kind of person that could survive the alternative.

And that was okay.

For now.

* * *

 **A/N:** There will be more to come in this series, stay tuned. Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think.


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